


Hero

by maryfic



Series: 365 Scenes [22]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Medical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5148794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryfic/pseuds/maryfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry always thought there was only one kind of hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero

It was Hermione who first suggested that Harry might benefit from some sort of physical therapy for stress relief. Hot stone massages, acupuncture, something of that nature. Even shiatsu. Ron just rolled his eyes and told him there was probably a nasty tasting potion that would unkink his muscles and to just ask Pomfrey and move on. But the boy hero had known Hermione his entire Hogwarts career, and six years later, was inclined to listen to her, if only to shut her up. 

His headaches had also been getting worse, and he knew from his own reading that she was correct. But out of all his potential choices, massage seemed the best one, if he could find someone who didn't just want to feel up the Boy Who Lived. Needles were a clear loser, Harry shuddered thinking of the first-year immunizations he'd suffered through, both Muggle and Wizard, under Poppy's trained eye, hand, and wand. 

But he thought he could handle someone touching him, as long as it was a stranger. So he dug for that vaunted Gryffindor courage and approached the medi-witch one evening when Ron had given in and decided to play chess with Hermione, grateful the infirmary was empty with no broom accidents or potions mishaps. 

"Madam Pomfrey?" he called quietly, his voice carrying across the long room. The witch appeared in the doorway to an antechamber on the far end, likely her office, a helpful yet concerned look on her face as she crossed the floor. 

"Are you ill, Mr. Potter?" 

He fidgeted on his feet. "Sort of?" 

Poppy got an understanding look on her face. Teenage boys came to her with all sorts of complaints. "Won't it go away, Mr. Potter? I assure you, it won't fall off, and you won't get hair on your hands, although chafing might be an issue. I'll get you some salve you can apply to the affected area -" she was already bustling to a cabinet along one wall before he spluttered out a negative response. 

"No, it's not - not that, Madam Pomfrey, it's my back. I have - really bad knots," he finally got out. 

She turned, a bottle already in hand, but quickly replaced. "What sort of knots? Take off your robes and sit down." The witch gestured to a bed and he complied, taking off his two-layer school robe, leaving him in his under robe bottoms, which sort of resembled loose long underwear, and a t-shirt that he found more comfortable than the matching top half of the traditional garments. She came over to him and cast a diagnostic, then, making a frown-y sort of noise, laid aside her wand and began to run her fingers over his back.   
Each touch, even the lightest, made him jerk and twitch, and he winced several times when she hit a particular sore or tight spot. By the time she was through, Harry was considering asking for a pain block potion, but he bit the inside of his cheek and waited for her analysis. 

"How bad is it?" 

"Bad enough," she replied, turning away from him. "I'm afraid this is beyond my help, Mr. Potter. Your back is in need of a professional." 

Panic flared in his gut. "I don't want to go to St. Mungo's, Madam Pomfrey. Please don't make me!" 

She turned back, a scroll in her hands. "I wouldn't do anything of the sort, dear. Take this down to Professor Snape. He'll be able to sort you out in time, I should think." She patted his shoulder. "Don't look like that, dearie. Severus is a certified healer, specializing in experimental and advanced treatment. You're in good hands. I don't think you should walk all the way down there, so you may use my Floo, it's connected to his office." 

Harry knew good and well why that was, but his mind was too busy trying to function around his back hurting to spend too much time on the thought. He just took the scroll and tossed a handful of powder into the low burning flames and called out his destination. He spun and spun and landed on his knees with a grunt of pain and a splash of soot in front of Snape's desk, where the professor was marking first-year essays on ingredients for basic potions with a grimace. 

Maybe the grimace was for Harry, though, as the teen got to his feet and cleaned his robe with an "Evanesco" charm. 

"What is it, Mr. Potter," he drawled, wiping the quill he was using and laying it aside. He took the scroll from the boy who was trying to lean surreptitiously against his desk. Snape's trained eyes caught the pained movements Harry wasn't skilled enough to hide from the spy, despite his attempt at casual. 

"Madam Pomfrey sent me down here, sir." It was more deference than he'd ever shown his professor, but Harry was through bullshitting. Snape held the evidence of how fucked up his body was and he was too tired of putting up a front. If the man could help him, then Harry could not be a douche about it. 

Severus read the parchment with concern. It was a miracle the child in front of him could even walk around, let alone stand up straight with the way his back looked in the image scan that Poppy had included. The muscles were so twisted and gnarled that he should have been bent double, yet by some accident, he wasn't. The pain must have been terrible for him to go to the infirmary. 

He rose and came around the desk, putting an arm around Harry and easing him downwards into the chair he kept for students. "How long has this been going on, Potter?" he asked, trying to modify his usual disdainful tones. "Robes off." His hands worked to achieve his own command, sliding them over Harry's shoulders and letting the fabric settle around Harry's hips so that he could examine the flesh beneath the t-shirt. 

The first session was the worst, for Harry and Snape both. But as the year wore on, the boy champion learned a new definition of the word hero as he began to move more fluidly, cast more efficient spells, and train others to help defeat the Dark Lord he was slated to kill eventually. 

Thanks to a different sort of hero. 

END

**Author's Note:**

> A writing exercise in which I attempt to write one small story each day of 2015. If you would like me to write a specific character/pairing/prompt, please leave a comment, thanks! Many fandoms/characters/pairings.


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